


First Love and Broken Goodbyes

by JensenAckles13



Series: Definition of Insanity [9]
Category: Frostiron - Fandom
Genre: Fluff at the beginning, Human AU, I write sadness, I'm Sorry, M/M, Self Harm, alcohalism, he dies, it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1961, Loki fell in love with Anthony Edward Stark. It was his smile that did it. His brilliant, wonderful smile. His melodic, joyous laughter. His wide, brown eyes, so full of innocence and curiosity that Loki never thought they could change. And then Anthony's parents were killed in a fiery car crash. Things went down hill, and were on their way back up when Anthony was drafted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Love and Broken Goodbyes

When they first met, the year was 1961. Anthony was laughing. His cheeks rosy, his smile bright, his eyes alight with curiosity and warmth. Loki had been immediately drawn to him.  
The boy had been seventeen, Loki only a year older.  
There was just something about Anthony; perhaps it was his easy confidence, or his simple kindness.  
They were together a mere two weeks later, only straying from the other when they had class. They were happy; ignoring the sharp glares they received as they walked through the hallways holding hands- it seemed some weren’t as accepting as others.  
Neither of their father’s was happy; their sons loved someone they never had permission to love. Of course they weren’t happy. Though, why anyone needed permission to love who they loved was beyond either Anthony or Loki’s comprehension.  
The first time they kissed was one day after Anthony’s parents had died in a fiery car crash on their way to the Stark Expo.  
Loki had held Anthony as he shed silent tears, sobs shaking the boy’s shoulders. He’d tucked them both into bed, keeping Anthony close, the moon putting her glowing face on them through the open window.  
Loki ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, murmuring soft words of comfort as Anthony dried his tears on Loki’s shirt. He took Anthony’s hands, held them solidly against his chest; let him feel the strong beat of his heart:

I’m here.

I won’t leave you.

I love you.

None of these words were spoken aloud, of course; but then, they didn’t need to be. They slid silently between the two boys’ never there but always hiding within the confines of their hearts- one broken; one breaking. He brought one of Anthony’s hands to his lips, kissed each one of his calloused fingers in turn, and pressed another to the very center of his palm, neither worn from time nor calloused from work. They tangled their legs together, curled together on top of the golden-green silken sheets they were laying on, warm breath caressing each other’s skin.  
Breath was soon replaced with hands, smoothing over the V of Anthony’s hips, the curve of his back, the swell of his arms, the flush of his lips.  
He tilted Anthony’s face up with a gentle thumb under his jaw, moving his hand up to stroke his thumb across the boy’s cheekbone. He placed a soft kiss on the very tip of Anthony’s nose. Anthony brought a hand up, cradling Loki’s cheek, gazing into the other’s eyes. Loki met his gaze and held it, poison green on chocolate brown, red from tears shed for a father who never loved him and a mother who always would.  
They were barely half a foot away- it was a simple matter to bring Anthony’s face to his and kiss those wonderfully soft lips.  
There was no real lust behind the kiss; it was pure intimate heat, slow and molten, spreading from Loki’s head down to his toes, warming him like he hadn’t been in months, yet another crack to the almost shattered wall of ice around his heart.  
When Anthony buried his face in Loki’s neck, and whispered a soft “I love you”, the wall finally broke. Loki let all the love he felt for this boy warm him further, holding Anthony closer, returning the words with quiet fervor, stroking the boy’s hair until he fell asleep.  
A month later and things weren’t as happy as they should have been.  
Anthony always seemed happy- rosy cheeks, brilliant smile, eyes alight.  
But when Loki figured out what he’d been doing, things changed.  
Loki had taken Anthony’s wrist when the boy went for another bottle of alcohol, stopping him. His thumb brushed over rough skin, slightly raised lines through the thin long sleeve. Anthony had yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned, but Loki had only reached his hand forward, gently taking the other boy’s in his own. He’d pushed the sleeve up, eyes widening at the scars slashed across his wrists. Hurt and pity and anger and sympathy and the overwhelming need to _fix_ roiled low in his gut, making him nauseous. Instead, he brought the wrist to his lips, softly kissed every scar he could find.  
Anthony had cried again.  
This wasn’t the boy he had fallen in love with. This was not the boy he’d seen with brilliant smiles and easy confidence and witty sarcasm. No, this was someone completely different, with long sleeves pulled low over his fingers so no one can see the secret’s he’s hiding and alcohol on his breath and smudges under his eyes from too little sleep and too many nightmares.  
Loki had whispered secrets of the past and promises of the future.  
He kept ever promise he’d whispered that night.  
Anthony got better.  
Three months passed and he’d only picked up his razor twice.  
One year later, and Anthony was drafted. They’d read it over and over again, hoping they were wrong. Anthony’s hands shook and Loki’s tried to steady.  
Anthony’s breath stuttered and Loki’s tried to even.  
Anthony’s tears spilled and Loki’s followed.  
They made love that night to a fire roaring in the fire place and the Beatles playing on their record player. _Hey Jude_ had always been a favorite.  
When Loki got the call that Anthony had been killed, he’d cried. He’d mourned. He hadn’t eaten or slept for day’s afterword.  
He shoved the velvet box hiding the silver ring into the bottom of his dresser and never looked at it again.  
He’d read the letters he’d gotten and always replied to every day.  
He listened to the Beatles record every night, humming along to _Hey Jude_ as he let the blade bite into the soft skin of his wrist.  
The pain was fresh, easy; it helped take away the heavy guilt weighing on his shoulders- he shouldn’t have let Anthony go. They should’ve gone to Canada, where the draft couldn’t reach either of them.  
Over time, the wounds turned into scars.  
He couldn’t bring himself to throw out the razor.  
He visited Anthony’s grave everyday- they’d never found his body. Instead, all the remnants of what he used to be were buried six feet under in a mahogany box.  
Folded golden-green silken sheets. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels. A red-stained razor. A small velvet box hiding a silver ring.  
At night, when Loki closed his eyes, all he could see was Anthony.  
1961\. Laughter. Rosy cheeks. Bright smile. Eyes alight with curiosity and kindness.  
The moon.  
The kiss.  
The scars.  
Oh, so many scars….  
He loved Anthony.  
Oh, how he loved the boy; _his boy_.  
He’d shouted it to the wind, letting it get carried away so that the word would hear; he’d whispered it to the fire crackling in the fireplace, letting it get eaten up by the flames; he’d sung it in the form of _Hey Jude_ to a dead man’s grave. 


End file.
